


Uranium Fever

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Bathing, Dirty Talk, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Ghoul, Masturbation, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rough Sex, Strength Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Nora is more than just smitten by John's seemingly effortless physical prowess. Of course, John knows this...and might or might not be exploiting it.





	1. One

This was her life now. Skulking around her friend like a shamed puppy, and all the while trying to keep her legs closed enough to keep alive one more day. This was it - stuck once again in a cleared out building with the weight of that unspoken thing clinging to her skin. 

John Hancock, ever able to appear calm and collected, just gazed at her through a smug, side-eyed glance. 

“I don’t see any other way to go about it, Hancock. We’ll need to take the elevator…”

“Nah, that’s nonsense,” he saddled up next to her with that swagger of his that he normally saved for moments of his own genius. The ghoul was, surprisingly, a show off at times. But thankfully his ego didn’t go too much beyond requiring a bit more of her attention than usual to be satisfied. A stale cigarette hung off his lower lip; black eyes were half hidden under a sly look.

“Maybe there’s a backdoor entrance or something,” she said, willing him to ignore any double meaning in her words.

Hancock brushed her aside with an elbow that almost made her pout like she was a teenager again. “No sport to it that way. Hold this for me, Sister.”

Nora’s lips thinned, heart pounding but she took his shotgun off his hands, rested it back on her shoulder, her hip cocked out as he rubbed his scratchy palms in a show of preparation. As long as she bit her tongue he’d never know this time - so she locked her ankles, leaned back and got ready for the show. It was all about appearing calm; unaffected. That last time had been a slip-up…

She got her show and somehow managed to keep that dastardly moan in the back of her throat. Somehow.

Nora prided herself on keeping a cool facade even as she watched Hancock lift up the large cluster of a cement wall, held together by age and rotten iron supports. The only change she could feel in her was the slow leak of moisture between her thighs and that sudden, expected pull in her lower belly.

“G-get that smoke rack,” he growled, teeth snapping hard, somehow still looking smug despite the slight quiver in his thighs.

It took her an embarrassingly long amount of time to shove off the wall, throw the cigarette machine on its side and wedge it up under the impossibly heavy foundation. The middle of the machine crunched as Hancock lowered the cement wall onto the metal case, but it held. Surprisingly. What didn’t hold was her tongue.

“Holy fuck, Hancock,” she exclaimed, shaken. She must have looked like a fish out of water because his eyes glinted. That shine made her snap her teeth together. Silenced and embarrassed.

“Not too shabby for a ‘rotting corpse’, if I do say so myself,” he grinned at his own slight, in all his self-deprecating glory.

Nora frowned, “You shouldn’t say things like that…” and she left it at that, knowing he would just grin at her with that toothy, shit eating smile of his that both annoyed and flustered her. Never taking life as seriously as she wished he did. But that was his charm, wasn’t it? Charm also meant hefting things more than four times his weight like they were recliners or something only marginally heavy.

She handed him back his shotgun, avoiding his deep black eyes as she got to her hands and knees, popping the soft pip boy light on with a ‘bloop’ of sound. The bubble of arousal was still forming, but she had gotten good this past week at ignoring it.

The stairwell was open now. Downward she could make out a flickering light pinging off the back wall. Upstairs looked all pitch and dangerous, however. But they didn’t need to get to the second floor. Thankfully.

“I’ll go in first, wait for my signal,” she told him, already shuffling under the opening, praying to whatever God cleansed the world that it didn’t fall and split her in half. Above her she could hear him snort - the shot of an inhaler was followed up by a sharp inhale not long after. Hit of jet after that indeed, she thought, checking her plasma pistol with nary a sound.

Ready for anything, she chanted.

There was nothing, though. It was dead quiet and thankfully it was upstairs that had toppled; blocked off by chunks of fused cement and death-inducing iron poles. She gave the basement a once over with her eyes, not even stepping off the last step before tip-toeing back. She needed John with her just by looking at the scattered layout. It took two to clear a room with so many tight spaces spilling out into open darkness.

“Hancock,” she whispered near the opening.

No response.

Nora sighed, got back on her knees, ready to poke her head out and shout for him if he managed to dumb himself down in a chem-haze while she was gone all of five minutes, but a low chuckle struck her from behind and she gasped hard, twisted, pointed her weapon and felt an immediate cold sweat leak out of her pours when she was met with a grinning, smug-faced Hancock sitting with his forearms resting on his thighs at the foot of the stairs.

“Are you fucking insane,” she hissed, eyes wide and heart racing, “I could have shot you - you idiot.”

His trademark hat was tucked up, only exemplifying the casual tilt to his body. His lazy smile curled further up, “Not with that little thing,” he told her, flipping his freshly cleaned knife around his thumb and knuckle as if it wasn’t made of brahmin hide and steel, but pillow fluff.

“You’re high. You lifted this fucking thing like it was nothing,” she jabbed a finger at the cement wall as if to emphasize her point, even though he only seemed to grow cheekier, “and now you’re acting like you want to turn into a pile of green sludge or something.”

“Don’t tell me ya think I need some chems to lift up that little thing? Breakin’ my heart all over again,” despite his words she watched him smirk before taking a hit off the jet inhaler cupped in his other hand, exhaling the thin trails of vapor from his ruined nose. Those eyes of his seemed to glimmer in the light off her Pip-boy and that and other things were to blame for the tickle in her gut. Those eyes, even black, showed way too much for her to ignore the way he looked at her - and what they told her.

“We don’t have time for this right now,” it heated her cheeks to think about it, let alone say it. The flippant confirmation felt brutally open.

Hancock just tipped his hat down, rolled up on his heels and sheathed his knife with a thin expression, “Whatever ya say, Sister. Got all the time in the world, after all, not like somebody else I know.”

Nora swallowed, recalled the way he lifted that impossibly large wall just behind her and ignored the rest - ignored the way he lifted that Gunner off her six days ago or tried to ignore it at least. That fucking man - the size of a fridge and easily as heavy…and then he had just been…gone. She’d seen Hancock with his fists curled around the slack in the back of the Gunner’s fatigues, teeth bared and a heat in his eyes that made the black look red in the afternoon sun. She’d watched Hancock lift that man over one slim shoulder, hefting him into a rocky face that decimated the man’s skull. Dead before he knew what happened, she recalled.

He’d thrown him off of her. Killed him. Just like that - so easily it seemed.  
And…now she’s thinking about it again. Just like she promised herself she wouldn’t.

Nora inhaled the musky smell of the stairwell, clearing her thoughts as she traced her steps down the stairs, Hancock at her back all the while, shotgun at the ready. They both checked the perimeter, meeting in the middle with a fleeting glance on her part when the place turned up empty.

“Nothin’,” John confirmed lowly, shifting ruined fingers in his coat pocket, pulling out two smokes and a flip lighter.

It wasn’t right, she thought, feeling eyes on her, but not seeing any. Hancock seemed to share her apprehension, eying the corners and open doorways with suspicion as he lit both cigarettes between his necrotic lips, sucking in the stale smoke. The simple pleasant moan he made when he spoke was absent as if he was waiting for a noise in the silence. Waiting.

They smoked in the middle of the basement, quiet and waiting. Knowing.

A scuttle above their heads was all the warning they got before the wails of ferals filtered through the cracks in the walls. One of them slid out like a damn spider from a fissure in the wall - that one was hers. The rest Hancock took out as they swarmed up from the drainage grates. With that shotgun of his, he was a force to be reckoned. The ferals were already still by the time she’d watched her thin, sprawling enemy liquefy into choppy green gunk.

The reek of gunpowder, smoke and plasma residue mixed with the scent of rotten flesh and putrid blood so perfectly that she found a support column, braced herself and heaved.

“Need to lay off that swill Cait keeps making,” she heard Hancock inform her through the stuffy cotton in her ears. She would have thrown a colorful comment back at him, but she was too thankful for the bottle of purified water he handed her to do much else but chug it down. 

Something about him having a dad-voice, she figured. If she called him out on something like that it’d get him good - or he’d laugh her off and send her another playful jab. She could never figure out how to win with him, even when he lost she still felt like he got the last word.

His raspy voice drew her gaze behind her after a while, blinking away the wet film over her eyes to find him kicking limp bodies away from a hatch in the floor. Bingo, she thought, finally meeting his expression with a grin of her own, even if hers was less steady than his.

This time, he went first, arching a tattered brow at her when she opened her mouth to order him to stay back. The sick still left her stomach feeling raw, so she decided to take the last swallow of her water as he disappeared into the darkness.

“No ferals,” she heard him grumble, and then immediately click his tongue with a pleased sound, “unless ya wanna count this dashing ghoul down here amongst ‘em.”

Nora snorted, biting her tongue to stop from laughing.

“You know, some folks just can’t appreciate a good joke, glad you’re not one of them,” he sounded amused, but with a tang of bitterness that left her frowning. When he found the light down below, clicking away the darkness, exposing a dirt floor and some broken glass, she swallowed a breath and delved down.

She didn’t even get her feet on the packed ground before he was standing beside her, a hand on the stone railing, shotgun slung low in his red, white and blue belt, “There ‘aint nothing down here, Nora. We got time for it now.”

Nora felt her lips fall into a frown. He never used her name unless he wanted to break character and play seriously.

Her rear sank back on the step, cold and hard on her ass but a good distraction from the gleam in his eyes. She didn’t want to talk about it - better to leave it hanging awkwardly between them until one of them died. But Hancock was patient about everything else but her. It really wasn’t a good place to have this discussion. Might have been safer to have this talk before they left Hangman’s Alley, but she’d had a good enough excuse then too.

It would always be excused unless he cornered her, though, which was practically what he was doing. Smart move on his part.

“What part do you want to talk about?” she managed, finding her breath catching in her throat as his sinewy arm went straight against the railing, blocking off one means of escape.

“We can start at the part where you stuck your tongue down my throat,” he said low, not exactly patronizing but not with the usual warmth that she immediately missed.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, “we could start off there.”

Hancock’s eyes gleamed, something hesitant and eager beneath the black, wet film.

“…yeah,” she repeated quietly, “…sure, that part. Would you believe me if I said I’d just been happy to be alive?”

Hancock threw her a one-sided smile, enough of a gesture that she could finally breathe. When had she stopped? - sometime when he braced his arm on her side, she figured. He had a way of taking the air out of her lungs.

“Saved your pretty ass enough times to know that’s a dressed up lie,” he warned, eyes hot like black coal.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Hancock.” No reason to use anything more familiar like ‘John’ when he had her near pinned, waiting for a confession she was sure he knew without her having to tell him. It’d been going on like this for weeks prior to her common brush with death. The kiss was just belated if anything. He hadn’t seemed so opposed to it either…but perhaps that was the problem. No, that was the problem.

She couldn’t find the words.

“Tell me what I'm supposed to think then,” he said, a ragged edge to his tone - that soft slur she’d come to relish and despite making her stomach flip and topple like a rolling barrel set ablaze. Nora braced herself as he moved closer, an inch here and then another forward until she could smell the stale, warm musk of him. It’s a smell she rolled into at night when it was just the two of them hold up. A smell she couldn’t help but inhale with a flutter in her eyes.

Hancock breathed, hot breath ghosting over the side of her face, “Look me in the eyes,” and she looked at him, somehow, “and tell me I didn’t open up ah’ flood gates between those legs.”

If he were any other man she’d have slapped him. Before the bombs, she’d have given Nate an evil look and watched the fist fight ensue, but this was Hancock and he wasn’t lying. She was.

The smug accusation made his mouth work up in a smirk. What a beautiful bastard.

Six days ago, when John took a knee, reaching his hand out to heft her up after tossing that scum off her, the fading burn of violent fingers still on her arms and neck, she’d lost it. The moment she felt the heat of him on her front she was done for. Hancock groaned and stroked down her jaw after she tugged him on top of her, lost in a sea of desire and adrenaline. She’d never been so wet in all her life.

He had that right…

She couldn’t admit to that, “Y-yess…”, but she did anyway, feeling at once mortified and relieved to have spoken that one little word.

John didn’t seem as pleased with himself as she’d have thought. Instead, his lips turned down. He wore a look of reservation unbecoming his normal charming disposition. Instead, he looked a little…heartbroken?

“Then what’s the game here,” he asked, almost a whisper, “some kinda guilt - teasing me for shits and gigs - or is it my zombie stare that’s thrown ya off? I can handle the ugly truth if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Neither, she wanted to say. But perhaps it was a combination of all three.

“I don’t know,” she said instead, feeling it was the truth if a bit of a stretch. She knew a part of it had something to do with Ol’ Nate, buried just a month ago. Those old memories still fresh at times when they shouldn’t be, but Hancock had stirred something harsh where Nate never even stepped and something about that felt like a betrayal.

Warm, scratchy fingers traced her chin, so softly it reminded her of strands of hair in the wind at first. She shifted, gasped without having the good grace to hold it in and watched a myriad of emotions pass like clouds over the depth of John’s eyes. No, it was too intimate. If he just wanted to fuck her and be done with it then that would have been one thing. Maybe that’s why she’d ripped her lips away from him when he’d sighed - that soft, relieved sound…so pleased and content. Too much.

“Dangerous stuff you’re playing with, Nora,” he muttered, injecting an ounce of humor into his tone she knew was only for her, “and ya know what happens when someone handles old dynamite.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“Least you know that much. Let’s keep our hands and feet inside the ride from now on then - unless ya really wanna’ ride the roller coaster.”

Nora nodded, flushed red and embarrassed more than she could ever recall, but Hancock took it all in stride. Always did, she realized. Slurs and jabs washed off him like rain and right now seemed no different. He was smooth, even when she could tell he didn’t want to be.

They smiled, both forced smiles and left it at that. At least that day.

The gear they brought back from the bunker was half-rotted away with time. But Smiling Larry could get most anything running with some duct tape and elbow grease. It didn’t feel like a complete waste of time, even if the stuff slung over their shoulders wasn’t what they expected, nor needed. Even though Hancock still watched her when he assumed she wasn’t paying attention, and even though she did the same, something about the trip back to Hangman’s Alley felt a little less strained than the one away from it.

It was about a week later at the Castle - days of blissful ease and forgiveness - that she stepped outside one overcast morning to find Preston shouting up instructions to a red lithe form at the top of the busted relay tower. 

Nora stopped dead, mouth flooding with saliva that she nearly choked on when a strong gust of wind blew the red frock coat back, waves of crimson up high. Hancock looked like a bloody pirate, a wrench between his teeth, holding on to the support bar one handed while the other readjusted his tricorn in the dastardly winds...

He plucked the wrench from his teeth, still one-handed, “Hell’ava view up here, soldier!” she heard him shout, grinning from ear to ear. 

“No time for sight-seeing, Hancock. You got that panel open yet?”

“Yea, yeah…”

Nora felt the moisture gather between her thighs, soaking her freshly cleaned underwear. Ruined. He’d ruined her panties. It had taken ages to find a decent pair and the last of the abraxo went to cleaning them. And now they were ruined. 

Son of a bitch, she thought, curling her fingers into her palm. She watched him kick his boots into the support rails, bracing himself as he detached the panel box, lugging the heavy thing up on his shoulder with the wrench back between his teeth...

She didn’t want to stay around to see how he managed to climb his way down with one hand and a new fifty plus pound box of metal balanced on his shoulder. She had better things to do - like duck back from the cement archway and find her office, lock the door and find her chair with shaky legs...and…

It was the longest walk across the yard she’d ever experienced. 

“If we do this there is no going back…” she whispered, laying her palms on the smooth, dusty wood of her desk, breathing hard and heavy and feeling the heat creep up into her cheeks for the thousandth fucking time this week. 

No going back, she repeated. No going back. 

It didn’t matter how much she chanted it, though, no revelation or crack of common sense shined through. She still unclasped her belt buckle, hefted herself up and shoved everything down to her ankles. 

Her eyes raced to the lock on her door, momentarily at odds with which way the lock was tilted when it was locked. Was it locked? Yes, it was. She remembered…

Her inside we’re blazing, tight and slick and the simplest stroke was ecstasy. The last time she’d done this had been back in Diamond City, in a bed at Piper’s. She'd been all alone, at night...miles away from John Hancock and his dastardly humor and rugged looks - looks that somehow she found more appealing than any of the smooth-faced men and women who'd shown her interest before. 

The lack of good support on the desk made her side ache, but it felt too good to stop now. 

A bed would have been better, she realized, half-way to an orgasm that was making her knees quiver and shoulders shake, but she was out of sorts enough that just finding her quarters at the other end of the settlement would have spelled certain failure. Besides, she could be quiet. 

There were only a short few seconds where she heard the commotion outside the thin door of her office - stopping her fingers briefly on the brink. Nora’s heart stammered. Her breath paused and then the scuttle of feet fled and she swallowed a moan as her fingers swathed quickly across her clit. 

Hancock... 

Ghastly grinning, bathed in sunlight. Knife dancing between his fingers. Those crude jokes; always a hair away from vulgar. His mouth, expressive and roguish despite the lack of plush lips - the taste of ash on her tongue. Heat...his thankful groan when she slipped her tongue inside his mouth. 

The orgasm that came was harsh but short - lackluster for all the eager, sweet sensations. 

Nora sighed, her knee giving way for her legs to swing down over her desk. The gentle waves weren't as powerful as they ought to have been, but they were pleasant all the same. 

It would have been different with him...

Alone, by herself, it was oddly unfulfilling, though, she thought mindlessly, still in a daze as the soft contractions inside her fluttered around nothing. She thought of Hancock - of him grinning rakishly in the wind, holding a hand to his trademark hat. Looking for all intents like a dangerous buccaneer. 

Her knees still felt useless by the time she felt stable enough to appear from the doorway as inconspicuous as possible. The wind on her cheeks was biting, proving her fears that her cheeks were hot and most likely pink still from her orgasm. Not even that worthwhile of one either. 

She could lie if anyone commented on the blush, the drying sweat or general lazy way she found herself strolling back into the yard. Just feeling under the weather, she'd say. Bad Brahmin the night before. Tired from the journey. She could think up a dozen excuses. 

Back outside the air smelt like meat. A fire was glowing along the western wall just off the left of the corn plots. The sun was starting to set. A late end to the light now that the summer months were in full swing.

Nora looked down at her wrist, blowing a stray damp strand of hair out of her eyes. Her pipboy read just shy of 7:30 pm and only now was the horizon going pink... 

“Where’d ya run off to?”

Nora jerked, turned with a cold chill to find Hancock leaning on the stone wall behind her, right by the archway she walked out from. 

She'd never felt so exposed in all her life. 

He was smoking a cigarette with the kind of easy living she suspected only he was capable of - hands stuffed heavily into the pockets of his coat, one leg crossed over the other and a smooth smile wrapped around his smoke. She envied him most times, but now she was finding that emotion overshadowed by lust. An emotion she was getting just as tired of in all honesty. Why did he have to exude the thing that, for all intents and purposes, was leading her astray?

There was no time for what she wanted with him, nor any time for what he wanted from her. 

Hancock arched a bare brow at her hesitation. 

“Papers,” she offered quickly, only realizing when his smile turned mischievous that it was a terrible cover. 

“Contracts,” she continued, “I forgot about them for the new trade routes from Bunker Hill,” he looked none convinced so why she kept on she couldn't figure, “real bureaucrats...they won't even strap down a Brahmin without...”

The glimmer of teeth appeared around his smoke and she frowned, shaking her head hard enough that she found it in her to be annoyed, “What is it you wanted again?”

“Ah, who said I wanted anything? Can't a ghoul take a break from hard labor every once in awhile?” He looked far too pleased to catch her slipping around her own tongue. 

“I didn't mean-I just...never mind. The heats just getting to me.”

For a moment he looked convinced. A shade of concern taking over the amusement, but then his eyes narrowed, lips curling as a gush of smoke leaked out his nose, “Only gonna get hotter, you remember the ruins in July. Could have cooked me a slab of Vaultie Pie if I'd tripped you on the asphalt.”

God, that had been a brutal month and worse yet she'd only been traveling with him a couple weeks until that point. John had his first good glimpse of her with sweat soaking her like a monsoon.

“Yea,” she winced, “Not looking forward to that again. Maybe we'll head further up north. I know of a nice cabin across the border.” 

Or she did. 

Nate and she had taken spring break up there when all their friends had gone south. The snow in March always reminded her of Christmas as a little kid, the first snows there were like clouds before the dirt from the roads turned it into gray slush. 

Hancock flicked his cigarette butt in the ragged patch of rocks at his feet, but he was watching her. Knowing.

Nora couldn't help the old memories. Could not look at John now and wonder what Nate would have thought had he known what the future would bring. If he'd known his son would become what he did - if his wife would forget about him, would lust and long for someone like Hancock…

Would Nate be ashamed of her? Would he be sad? Or maybe he'd always known something like this could happen. 

The war had, after all, left him careful about her future. Perhaps she was worried about nothing. Nate would have wanted her to keep living. To be happy, as brutal as that sounded. 

John thrust himself off the wall, took two strides forward and there, slammed up against her, was the stale musty smell of him that she just wanted to rub her nose in. Forget the sad world and embrace John's version of it. 

“You alright, Sister? Wanna take a walk or somethin’, that or I could high-tail it outta here.”

“No,” she managed a smile, “I'd prefer it if you'd come help me cook some food. Smells like Garvey’s burning whatever that is on the spit.”

He followed her in good spirits, clapping her on the shoulder, but Nora wasn't naive, John was worried about her. That was what she really loved about him. 

Loved... 

She nearly tripped on her way to the fire, covering her brief mental lull at the realization by cursing a rock that wasn't there. 

She spent the whole evening avoiding his black, obvious eyes, eating with her head down and finding a good means of escape when one of the Minutemen pulled John aside for some help with the generator. 

The night was peaceful despite her static thoughts and that one guilty notion that just wouldn't leave her whenever she thought about reaching out, leaning into him and...and shoving him down on her bed with a hard kiss and one hand pushed up under his dress shirt. 

“I'm screwed,” she admitted in the morning. Unable to not smile at herself despite the way her heart raced.


	2. Two

She decided they'd stayed another day at the Castle. Rewiring the tower proved more tedious than one of the kids from the Brotherhood could handle. Nora had a good time chatting with the young guy while they took turns going over the circuit boards and connectors. 

Across the yard halfway through twining a new cable, she saw Hancock loading bags of concrete mix into a big metal bin. A burly man to his left was dumping buckets of water in time with the dusty pour. Another one, a kid, was stirring the mixture. Even the kid was burly. Just as heavy as Hancock from the looks of it, yet John was the one slinging the fifty plus pound bags over his shoulder, stabbing the ends with his knife before gutting them open. The strain of his muscles was noticeable even under the sag of his clothes. 

He wasn't a big guy. She figured he had never been, but he'd filled out a bit more since she'd first met him. It still didn't explain how easily he lifted things even the biggest of the men here would have trouble with. It made her uneasy - made her fingers go dumb on the delicate board on her lap. 

Damn him. 

He caught her looking as he worked the tip of a cigarette with his tongue and teeth, the bag on his shoulder slowly emptying as he leaned over the bin. John tipped his hat at her, smirking - she could tell even from across the yard. 

Hesitantly, she waved at him, realizing her mouth had been open only when the young ex-Brotherhood kid handed her a bottle of purified water. 

Embarrassed yet again. 

Luckily she managed to keep herself together until the tower was up and running, streaming depressing piano numbers between reports and then the night's dinner and lookout schedule. But fuck, once she wasn't needed any longer her legs took her in a straight line to her room, with the bed and a pillow to arch her back so she could fuck herself furiously. 

“We hitting the road in the mornin’?” John asked, appearing like an apparition at her side, patting dust off his clothes with a small sneer. The clouds that eased off him reeked of chalk and asbestos. Wouldn't do good to mention how poisonous that crap was. Didn't make much difference now that the world was mostly composed of radiation. 

“Mm, yes-yes we are,” she huffed, stuttering only slightly before rounding the corner into the flickering light of the east wing. He still followed after her, easing into a short jog which made her realize she was nearly running. 

“You want to play cat and mouse, just say so.” 

Predator and prey. She could only be tempted so much...

“Fuck it,” she breathed, stopping, stumbling into him before curling her fingers into his lapels and pulling him in. It was awkward, his nose ridge bumped into her cheek; her lips missing his, but with a gasp, she felt his fingers grip the back of her neck - nails catching in her skin. He groaned, pulled her away, steering her open mouth and then there he was, with lips slanted and chapped over hers. 

Better than the first kiss. So much better. And then it was over just as abruptly, a soft bite to her lower lip. 

“Ya ready to ride this ride, then?” He panted, twisting his fingers in the damp hair at the nape of her neck. 

Yes, fuck yes, she thought wildly, blood boiling. Whatever he wanted from her. It didn't have to just be fucking, even if that's all she could think of right now. Her own lust was half blinding, but even past the evident need in his eyes, she could see the other emotion that scared her so terribly. 

“Yes,” she admitted watching the ruined flesh around his eyes wrinkle with a soft affection akin to the kind Nate showed her when they were just teenagers in puppy love. But John was a grown man and yet he still looked at her like this…

“I-” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “I want this to be what you want because that's exactly what I want as well.”

Hancock searched her eyes, and against her gut she kept her gaze, and let him. Let him find whatever it is he’s looking for, she willed - and let her not shy away from him this time.

“You sure ya wanna roll over every morning to this,” he made no gestures to himself, but she knew what he was referring to. He was handsome in his own way, a real king of the zombies, just like he told her that first day she met him...and she already woke up to his mug most mornings. 

Nora smirked, stroking the side of his neck with her fingers, “I've had lots of practice holding back the screams of terror by now, plus you strike a pretty picture in the morning light I’ll have you know.”

“Now you're talkin’,” he grinned, “ain't nothing gonna get me out of my pants like flattery.”

“Follow me. I-”

“General!”

Nora froze, twisted within Hancock’s loosening grasp and found a gaggle of youths flanked by Garvey, all serious expressions, and sweaty brows. A fresh cut on Preston’s cheek bled freely and without a thought, both she and Hancock separated - the moment evaporated. The lust in her gut melted away and adrenaline took hold. The world didn’t break for romances and love affairs, after all. 

Hancock stepped forward, working his knife out between the red, white and blue and the dingy black of his pants, teeth bared, “Who is it?”

“The raiders with the fire, they-” and then the distant crack of gunfire grew gooseflesh over her limbs and Preston gave her a stiff nod, cranking the musket in his hands. 

Fire and brimstone, she thought fleetingly as the plasma rifle in her hands discharged towards her first victim. The nameless Forged drone died pointlessly, coming at her with a flaming hunk of steel; charging a ready weapon like a madman. All into the late afternoon they came and they died. 

A half dozen of them was evaporated after wrongly taking cover in the dismantled shack on the outskirts. One Artillery shot took them out, forcing the remaining to fall back into the darkness like vermin through the cracks. All the while she hadn’t caught sight of the telltale red flap of cotton, but between the gunfire and crackle of fire she’d heard his curses and showmanship.

Now there was nothing but the lapping of the sea and the soft, dying crackle of the fire. The Calm after the storm. 

Nora hugged the outer wall, the warm flood waters soaking her up to her thighs. Her breath felt like steam in her lungs, each heavy inhale was painful and not nearly enough to satisfy the bodies greedy need for oxygen. She quickly breathed in again, half-spluttering, when she heard the telltale growl of John in the distance. He was shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words.

She rung her nails into the old stone wall at her back and looked upwards to the sky. The sun was gone, leaving thin lines of red and purple on the horizon. A few pinpricks of stars dotted the darkest patches of the sky. The black of the sea glistened with red and purples...and it was beautiful. Life was glorious - it was the same thought she had after the carnage was done and she was left alive. 

“Where is she?!” Hancock’s furious, distant growls shook her out of the dead haze. She could see him aways, shoulders hunched over a short recruit, his hands and the shotgun unsteady at his side. He looked half feral, shaking and huffing and threatening. Whatever he got out of the kid wasn’t what he wanted, because she saw him turn around hard, coat ripping around his calves. John scanned the horizon, shoulders sagging.

“I’m here,” she managed no more than a squeak. Whatever icky little bugs lived in the stale sea water were making her legs burn and itch. The salty fish smell was churning her gut. And yet the running adrenaline kept her rooted like it normally did...

The kid behind John spoke up, sterner than she’d have thought, “Don’t know...she must have-”

There was the sound of a light gasp, and then she watched a short scuffle of cream uniform and red frock and then the damp weight of the kid fell into the wet ground. Nora smirked, lips parted with a heavy breath. Hancock would have to apologize to him for that, but it didn’t escape her battle-numbed brain that she was mildly aroused despite the situation they were freshly out of.

“Nora!” Hancock shouted, the scrape of her name echoing off the stone walls.

Again she replied, throaty and small, but it was pathetic. Sweating in the humid heat, she cleared her throat, fire in her lungs still and shouted back, “Here!”

“Nora!?” from across the road she watched Hancock twist and freeze. He made a beeline for her, boots kicking up heavy tepid splashes of water. 

The red-stained sky to her right reflected off his eyes as they searched for her in the dark shadowed clip of the wall. For a moment he paused there, ankle deep in the soft earth, mouth a thin line. Hancock looked at her like Nate had never looked at her, and she realized with a punch of breath that he might love her more than Nate ever did…

“Hey,” she whispered, smiling even though the expression probably looked terrible due to the sweat and dirt and fading feelings of terror; hidden as it was in shadow.

A dead Forged woman floated belly up in the foot deep water by the shore. Nora watched his black, red-dotted eyes flicker to the corpse then back to her, sealing her in her spot as he cleared the distance, turning his shotgun to the muck, uncaring that the barrel was getting soaked.

“Nora…” he breathed, reaching to cup a rough palm around the back of her neck. She sighed uncontrollably, knees shaking - the grip he had her in was firm, near painful...but it filled her chest with a burning heat unmatched by the fire burning the landscape.

“Damn,” he cursed, “think you could throw me a signal next time you want to play solo?” It was painful how much he tried to cover his worry in that lull of humor, not to mention how little it worked. He stared at her, unblinking, “I thought they’d got you…”

Nora sighed as his hand slid down her spine, fisting the damp material at the small of her back before dragging her in close. The rough texture of his brow bumped against the slick, hot skin of her forehead. Oval skies filled with red dwarfs stared down into her, open and telling and somehow the yelling of the minutemen and women around them, surveying the damage, didn’t register as he looked into her. 

“Fuck,” she whispered inelegantly. 

“You got that right, dollface,” he smirked, rubbing his thumb inside the small of her back. “Now that I get to seduce you, maybe you could help me keep you alive a little bit longer. Wouldn’t want all this pinning of mine to be a waste, after all.”

Now the cloak was back on, fit and snug. Nora breathed a short laugh, flicking his chest hard enough that he let out a hard breath and chuckled, “Well, maybe a lot longer. Unless you wanna celebrate being alive in a more…” he leaned down and skimmed her damp jawline with his mouth, “intimate way.”

“Okay-” she sighed, “but...something is killing my ankles in the muck. I need to wash whatever this shit is off.”

“Say no more, baby,” he rasped before biting her throat gently, flushing her cheeks brilliantly even in the darkness, “though you taste delicious in my humble opinion.”

“A-as flattering as that is,” she stumbled, “it feels disgusting.”

Hancock leaned back, thumbing her back in slow circles with a more serious air, staring down at her with only the semblance of a smile, “Yeah, radiated sea bugs are probably a mood killer. I get ya, sister. Let’s get you cleaned up then.” 

Nora nodded, half-dumb and bone tired - itching and yet still aroused as all hell. He gave her a charming leer and steered her around a deeper patch of flood water before he brought her up over the cracked road. Her pants felt four times heavier and somehow the air, despite it being warm on her cheeks, felt freezing on her legs.

“Think I’ll trash these jeans…” she muttered, laying her plasma rifle over her shoulder as Ronnie Shaw started towards them with a limping minuteman supported over her shoulders.

“Good work, General,” Shaw gestured, half-shouting, but even in the dark Nora could see the hard veteran smiling, “Don’t worry about this one, just got his ankle caught in the damp. A sprain is all.”

Nora nodded once Shaw stopped before her and Hancock, “Any other injuries?” she asked, scanning the enemy blood on the young man’s overcoat. 

“Negative, those kids playing war didn’t stand a chance.”

“Have Garvey gather a couple recruits to secure the perimeter,” she said, evening out her tone, “I want the turrets checked over and those on guard tonight need snipers. No muskets. Those bastards will be easy to spot against the dark with their fire.”

“If they’re smart they won’t consider such a tactic, but Garvey’s got a group on the lookout already,” Shaw informed her, jerking her head to the east where Nora could make out the groups lantern in the growing dark, “and don’t you fret about the defenses, I’ll make sure we don’t have any more surprises tonight.”

Ronnie Shaw looked to the silent Hancock at her side, his hand still on her back, thumb rubbing with promise.

Nora swallowed a soft sigh and gave Shaw a heavy look, “Hancock’s going to help me with those caravan papers, please see that I’m not disturbed.” That sounded bad, she realized, swallowing thickly before adding, “Unless we get another ambush of course.”

“Not on my watch,” Ronnie declared gruffly. 

The minuteman leaning half his weight on Shaw snickered, but a hard hip from his support shut him up with a groan. Shaw smirked over at her, “I’ll keep the riff raff off your back, General.” There was a taste of curiosity in the woman’s eyes, but she said nothing. Nora knew she wouldn’t. Shaw minded her own business and maybe it was obvious, but Nora liked thinking she was being sneaky. 

“I’m a real natural with the paperwork,” John drawled beside her - a smirk dripping in his ragged voice, “mayoral duties and all.”

“John,” she warned, flustering as Ronnie and the recruit shambled their way back to the Castle. Hancock turned and gave her a languid wink before his palm slid down the slope of her rear and squeezed. She startled, releasing a sharp little sound, before erupting in a giggle fit for a teenager. Brash images of being lifted up around his hips by her rear end saturated her mind; squeezed hard and pulled apart.

“Gonna be some jealous boys and girls in the morning, sunshine,” he informed her as they walked side by side through the stone arches. Maybe so, she thought, willing her flamed cheeks to cool as the lights exposed her as much as the darkness covered her.

“As if they don’t already wonder why I’m always with you anyhow,” she replied with a measure of ease, already feeling the sharp adrenaline ebbing. Her heart was still fluttering fast, but that was entirely John’s fault. Her left butt cheek still throbbed warmly from his rough, loving squeeze - not to mention how wet her panties had become...

Hancock made a thoughtful sound before throwing his shotgun up over his shoulder, “Cause I’m such damn good company of course.”

“Of course,” she whispered, barely registering exactly what he said.

Inside her office was a pile of papers, all worn and yellowed. A few candles on the wall glowed orange, on their last wicks, trying and failing to illuminate the sofa in the corner. She watched John from the doorway ease into her space like it was his own. He relit the dead candles, focused the lantern on the coffee table and finished up the dying flame on his lighter against a cigarette. Thick curls of dark smoke rose to the ceiling as he shoved the coffee table back against an empty wall, making room. 

“You sit tight, baby, I’ll bring in a tub.”

“All by your lonesome?” she joked, crossing her arms as if she could hide away from the hot look he threw her over his shoulder. The curls of smoke and the fire flickering in his black eyes made her feel oddly naked. But that was the effect John tended to have on those that lusted after him she figured. His ghoulification didn’t seem to halter his ability to get under people's skins...nor in their pants from what she'd heard. This was more than that, though. She wasn’t a fling of his, and it wasn’t even her being hopeful either. The looks he gave her - the sound he’d made the first time she kissed him - it was more than just a friendly fuck he wanted. 

“You’re gonna need to save all the strength you’ve got, sunshine,” John warned her, half threatening as he took a hard suck on his smoke and blew the dregs out his open nose, “cause I’m gonna get my mouth so close against your sweet little-”

“John…” she breathed, “go get the tub, or this is gonna get dirty real fast.”

“There ya go temptin’ me again,” he pinched his smoke between his fingers and gave her a slow wink before swaggering his way out of her office. The fog he left behind him was heady and it took her an embarrassingly long time to pull herself away from her door. 

Nora counted her breaths, feeling the sharp arousal grow worse as the minutes ticked by. She thought idly about slipping a mentat under her tongue, just for an extra dose of courage and calm.

It’d been months before that awful, sunny day in late October of 2077 that she’d had sex. After Shawn...she’d been sore and the breastfeeding had left her desires for any sexual intimacy nearly void. So, judging by the time she could feel in her bones it had to have been at least a year and a half since she’d last had sex. Surely it hadn’t been anywhere near as long for Hancock...but she decided if it hadn’t been then she didn’t want to know.

Nora realized she didn’t know what to do while John was gone. 

She paced, dragging her feet along the open space where soon there’d be a tub with hot water. She eyed the torn and faded paintings on her walls, skimmed her shaking fingers along her desk and fidgeted with the mess of her hair as though it would help her disheveled look in the least.

She was halfway through searching her drawers for a hand mirror when the sound of scraping ceramic on stone echoed down the hall. Nora grinned, chuckling as John showed up with a steaming bucket in one hand and the lip of the tub in the other hand, having dragged it noisily down the hallway.

“You’ve really got your heart set on me bathing in here,” she said.

“Set on it?” he beamed with the inch long smoke pinched between his teeth, “Babe, I got plans on joining you.”

“Oh?” Nora hadn’t even thought about that...hadn’t even thought about disrobing in front of him, which made little sense when she’d been hovering in her own office waiting for him to bring her bath so she could fuck him without feeling like she’d crawled out of a swamp.

“Unless ya’ like your privacy,” he added almost flippantly as he poured in a bucket of steaming water.

“I…” she said without thinking, then swayed against her desk and caught him with a look that hopefully conveyed what she didn’t know how to word. Hancock shrugged a shoulder at her. Obviously, the ghoul couldn’t read her mind…

“You got a few more buckets time to think about it.”

And she did. Nora sat on the couch, removing her boots the second time John came back. Two more pails of water went in and then he was gone with a wink and a smile. She was down to her undershirt and jeans the third time he came in. By the fourth time she was on her knees by the tub letting the painfully hot water seep into her fingers. She hadn’t had a bath this hot since the bombs either. There had been the few tepid baths she’d found and savored, but nothing like this. 

“Too hot?” he asked her while tossing in the fifth round of buckets.

“Only one way to really find out,” she whispered, looking up at him to find his red frock coat already hung up on the peg by her open door. Nora nodded behind him without breaking eye contact, “You gonna lock that door?”

“Yeah…” he sounded nervous, which for some reason made Nora relax. Maybe it’d been longer for him than she thought.


	3. Three

The collision of sound from the door latching and the lock flipping made her heart skip a beat - the implication enough to make her weak. John helped her to her feet, cupped her elbows and brought her arms around his shoulders. Smooth operator, she thought with a crooked grin, feeling the damaged skin along the back of his neck.

“You say the word and I’ll leave you alone if ya’ want. Last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable,” he was sincere, but she could hear the glimmer of hope in his tone - the raw, unhidden desire that she figured was obvious on herself as well.

With a steady breath, she admitted, flushing, “I haven’t had sex since Shawn was born, John.”

His eyelids lowered, gaze intense, “You’re making me harder than a damn steel rod ya’ know that? Can’t imagine how many bats you had to break to keep the degenerates off this long.”

Nora smirked, “None since you came along. Seems you've taken to the task pretty seamlessly.”

“Ah-ha,” he chuckled, ‘what can I say? I’m good asshole repellent.”

“John…” she lamented, “I’ve only ever been with Nate before and I don’t want you being disappointed. I’m not cooked out on adrenaline anymore. I-”

“Hey, now,” he interrupted her, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb, “don’t go all self-conscious on me, beautiful. This is all new territory for me too. I’ve never touched anything half as important as you. If anything I’m the one that ought’ah be spewing out nervous ramblin’s. Hell...have you seen me?”

Nora smirked. “You sure do know how to get the floodwaters going,” she joked against the frill of his collar, snorting happily when he emitted a dark, faint groan. Maybe it wouldn’t be awkward. It was always hard to be nervous around him. 

He had a way of cracking her free even when she was adamant about feeling awkward.

Nora lifted her fingers to his vest buttons, unhooking the first one to the sound of a raspy, gratified sigh. Yeah, he wasn’t feeding her a load of shit. He was just as fresh at this sort of thing as she was, just in a different way. When she helped him shrug out of his vest, tossing it on the couch and found him shaking lightly under his thin white frills, she felt more at ease herself.

The shredded skin underneath his dress shirt wasn’t surprising, she’d seen it before. There had been many nights and mornings where they’d both gotten down to their skivvies in the hot summer months, laid out on their bedrolls sweating uncomfortably, and sometimes...they’d woken up against each other, finding comfort while they slept and awakening with only a slight hint of unease.

Nora didn’t feel embarrassed anymore. 

John made a soft grating sound as she placed her palms over his bare chest, familiarizing herself with the dips and raised welts - the thinner patches of smooth skin that nearly exposed the muscles beneath. Sure, she’d seen him a dozen times, but this was different - she could curl her nails softly into the valleys of him and trace what once she’d only observed wearily...sometimes heatedly with her eyes.

“What are you thinkin’, Nora?” he asked, voice low and ragged, maybe a little restive.

She worried her lower lip, thumbing down a seam along his ribs that looked fresher that the old scarring littering his torso. The deep line could have been from before she met him. Nora couldn’t recall a time when he’d been carrying any pain there. She swallowed thickly, pulling her eyes away from her caressing fingers, “Just thinking how much you’ve filled out since you quit the hard stuff…”

John snorted, grinning a toothy grin, “Figured you went for the bulky types, glad to know my hard work’s payin’ off in a good way.”

“I’d like you any way you came,” she added honestly, letting her fingers fall down to the waistline of his pants, “but I don’t worry about you wasting away anymore.” The tight, necrotic flesh over his stomach tensed as her thumb stroked between a divot of abdominal muscle and hipbone. His verbal reaction made her warm inside.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he told her, passionately, gripping her hips in a fierce hold that shot a line of desire down her spine, mingling with the heat already there. God, this was almost too much. Too soon. But it felt more natural than anything else did in this world, maybe even in the world before this one.

It was getting difficult to think.

Nora leaned up suddenly, finding his lips and kissing him. Hancock keened - the sound vibrating in her teeth as his tongue slid between her lips, urging her mouth open. She was lost in it. The safety of her office didn’t do a damn thing to dampen that urgent pounding of her heart as John fisted the hair at the nape of her neck, tilting her back to delve deeper into her mouth, sucking on her tongue and nipping at her lips. She only realized he was removing her undershirt when he had to release her lips to get it over her head.

“John…” she managed before he returned to her lips, licking under her tongue and growling inside her mouth. 

Yes, she thought, finally. Who would have thought being devoured would feel so delightful. 

Strong, sure fingers scratched up along her spine, making her shudder and moan into his mouth. The fragile clasp of her bra released, and immediately John’s palms slide up her bare back, curling the tips of his fingers into her shoulder blades and dragging a delicious line of sweet pain down to her rear end. Nora moaned a soft curse as he squeezed her ass cheeks, massaging the denim covered flesh greedily.

“You sure you wanna use that bath now?” he asked her, voice a faraway rumble of thunder against her chin, “cause I’m gonna do filthy, dirty...nasty things to you, Nora.” He bit gently at her lower lip, chuckling when she made a thick whine in the back of her throat.

“Tempting, John,” she murmured, albeit shakily, “but we’re both filthy enough as it is.”

Hancock shrugged sheepishly while smoothing his palms around to the front of her jeans, “Then let's get this party started. I ain't sure how much more gentlemanly shit I can handle.”

“Me too,” she breathed, letting him undo the clasp of her jeans and pull the zipper down. In one jerking motion, he took her jeans and panties down to her thighs, snickering when she gasped. His tongue slid up the side of her thigh, all the way to her hip on his way back up, teeth scathing a line up her stomach. When he hooked his hands around her back and brought the tip of her breast to his lips, Nora felt her knees buckle. Hancock would sooner clean her off with his tongue than let her bathe, she realized. That idea should have repulsed her, at least a little bit, but the bath suddenly seemed like the less pleasant option.

The hot glide of his tongue around her nipple made her chest, down to her thighs, ache softly. His thin, rough lips latched on, giving a parting suck before her flesh bounced back with a wet, loud pop. Her cheeks went hot at the sound, then blazed as he hummed in contentment, “Last chance to get a tongue bath.”

“Gross,” she laughed, hauling him up off his knees so she could work at the front of his pants. 

“You give my tongue too little credit, love.”

Nora smiled tellingly under the drape of her hair, her fingers working the flag from the loops in his waistband. He called her love…

She beamed further, making quick work of the buttons over the telltale hardness below. Hancock groaned, sighed and somewhere she thought she could hear his heart thudding, or maybe that was hers. There was no second layer to hide him from her when she got his pants open, and with a trivial displacement of air his cock sprang free, striking hotly against her knuckles; distended with blood.

“Careful…” he warned, swallowing thickly, “I’m usually pretty good at this but,” he inhaled carefully, “fuck...you got ol’ Hancock a bit too eager here.”

“So,” she grinned, running a finger up the underside of his cock, familiarizing herself with the texture that was at once rough ‘and’ soft, “no sudden movements then?”

The swollen head reaching up towards her was nearly purple with blood - a slight glimmer of precum balanced precariously on the soft looking slope. If she had any reservations about the state of him, of his cock, they were quickly dashed by the sight before her. It was just as curiously beautiful as the rest of him was. 

“Yeah, no sudden movements or you’re gonna be a real mess,” he warned her. 

No kidding, she thought, resisting the urge to swipe her thumb over the pearl of liquid. 

“Understood,” she said, helping him out of his pants and boots. She laid his tricorn over on her desk gently, giving his burnt cheek a peck of her lips. The bath was still steaming, a testament to how hot it's been. When she first told him about hot baths before the war he’d looked at her like she was mad. ‘You pe-war dames used to cook yourselves?’ He’d joked then, shaking his head in bafflement. 

But, now he was going to find out first hand why she’d been longing for one. It seemed a simple thing to accomplish now that she was drawing him - cock swaying between his legs - to the tub. Just a dozen buckets of boiled water...and a strong ghoul to carry them. She squeezed the solid muscles of his biceps, marveling at how much thicker he was now than he’d been a few months ago. His now mild chem use and steady diet were to thank for that, she knew. 

Nora took another long second to squeeze the meat of his arms, run her palms down to his corded wrists before dragging him down.

The water was hot - almost too hot, but it had been a good while since she’d experienced a real bath, and the first time for him it would seem. He winced at the first touch, but tolerated the heat until he was settled in across from her; his water softened scars so much different as his calves glided against her hips, eventually finding a way for them both to fit comfortably in the tub.

“Dear God,” she sighed, eyes going closed. It was so much better than she could last remember. Tension she’d long ignored finally began to ease. Her spine bowed as her chin slapped happily against her chest. Nora had enough sense to run her ankle along John’s inner knee before looking over at him with a hooded gaze, “What do you think, John?”

He gave her a nervous, lopsided grin, “You could have me half buried in Brahmin crap and as long as I had this glorious sight before me, I’d be lyin’ if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself.”

She chuckled, “Thanks for the compliment, I think.”

“It’s hard to not see the appeal,” he continued with a throaty rasp, his legs stretched, further barricading her in, “feelin’ parts of me relaxing I didn’t know I had.”

“Better than the chems?” she teased.

“Almost. Ain't nothing better than chems ‘cept you,” he breathed, obsidian eyes narrowing in contented bliss. It felt good to give him this - it was nothing like all the other depraved things she wanted to do to him...but something so innocent and wonderful was a joy to show him all the same. He would have spoiled himself with the simple things, she thought, had he lived in her time. It was easy to imagine a smooth skinned John McDonough, lounging around in hot baths with a pack of smokes and some good whiskey; high and unashamed.

When his eyes drifted shut, Nora was left to observe him in silence.

It should feel uncomfortable, she thought - the slow chorus of activity outside, far away and unimportant compared to the gentle breathing of the two of them. She shifted carefully under the water, sliding her calf over the top of his thigh, curling her ankle around his hip. Slowly, his eyes opened, looking over at her lazily; dangerously.

“You might have made a bad gamble with this tub, you know. Startin’ to forget about ravishin’ ya,” he remarked with a sly grin. The poorer she’d be if he was telling the truth, though the steam was making her relatively sleepy and pliable as well. They’d waited long enough to get to this point. What would be the harm in taking things slow?

Nora swallowed before speaking, wondering how best to phrase the question without it coming out a mess, “We could, if you wanted-wait...John?” She blinked, narrowing her eyes.

“John,” she blurted and sat up, “Is that blood?” 

The water sleuthing behind him glimmered pink; sliding out between his skin and the tarnished white rim.

He turned, rolling a shoulder with a curious lilt to his eyes. One black look at the water around his torso only got a grumble out of him, “Didn’t think you’d be put off by a bit of blood given the circumstances. Some burner might ‘ave opened up a nick or somethin’.”

John’s regarded frown gave way to a reassuring smile, but she still slipped up to her knees, handling the slick rim to see for herself. John made a click of approval, eyes watching the bounce of her breasts before leaning forward to give her a good look at his back. There was a shallow weeping slice just above his kidney - the clot of blood having softened, allowing it to bleed anew. Nora shook her head before cupping a palm of warm water, dousing the wound gently. John resounded, pushing his chin over her shoulder as she bathed the wound.

“And you were worried about me earlier,” she admonished. 

“It’s nothing a stimpack and some radiation can’t cure, ‘sides, I had more pressing matters to attend to,” he responded rather wryly, his palms noisily leaving the water to stroke the soft skin on her sides, tickling her ribs cheekily. Nora snorted before pressing her breasts firmly to his chest to reach the dry bar of soap on the floor.

He hissed when she rubbed her soapy fingers along the wound, but the thick length of his cock sprung back to life along her rear despite the sound of pain. Might be he was a bit more into that kind of thing than he led on - that knowledge was filed away for later, though. Radiation might heal him but it didn’t keep things from getting infected…

“Next time, we do first aid before fooling around.”

“Where’s the fun in that, sunshine?” He was grinning like a thieving cat as she settled herself down in his lap, ignoring the ache in her knees from the hard porcelain so she could rub the soap over his thick chest. Little white slices of soap stuck in the grooves of scar tissue, but they disappeared as she worked them into suds over his upper body. John's eyes closed and his head tipped back, laying boneless along the rim.

“Shit,” he sighed, “remind me to throw in with green vault dwellers more often - startin’ to feel like I cheated karma at cards. And to think Fahrenheit said you'd be the death of me.”

Nora couldn’t stop smiling - cheeks going red from more than the steam. With his eyes closed, she coated her hands in the sunken soap, pressing her tongue between her teeth before enclosing her fingers around his cock.

“Fuck me…” he groaned, hips jerking, water splashing as she worked both her fists in twists, up and down the generous length of him. Nate had been about his size, maybe not at long...it was strange to compare them in this way, but it helped that the muscle memory for this wasn’t for not. 

As the water got glossy from the suds, the backs of her thighs slid effortlessly into the downward slope of his legs, resting in the cradle of his hips where her hands swept over his throbbing cock.

John tensed, "...feels damn good."

Quickly, his hands breached the water to strain around the rim of the tub - something to hold onto maybe. His eyes strained open, looking at her penetrating gaze at first before making another broken sound, watching the murky view of her hands around his cock. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned; breath catching as she cupped the flared head in her palm, stroking a tight fist up the root of him.

She wanted him to - she wanted to see what he looked like before he fucked her into delirium. Her thumb swiped through a string of sticky cum, brushing it into the water before John choked. Water sleuthed over and onto the floor as his hips jarred up and down, fucking her fist as he came.

The vulnerable, almost boyish moan he made as the water ran with trails of cum made a quick little bolt of pleasure run down her belly. It may have been more arousing to hear that than see him with all that wiry strength on full show. The way the scars between his eyes bunched in pleasure - the slant of his eyes and that slack-jawed moan? 

That sound…

“John,” she moaned, stroking his cock carefully as she leaned down, kissing him urgently. Everything curtailed into oblivion it seemed. The heat of the bath was replaced by the cool dry air of her office. Rugged but careful hands gripped her under her thighs, hoisting her up effortlessly until she was pressed and hitched into the divot of his hips and chest. The hot length of his uneven skin against her own made her hiss; lips curling with teeth into his brutal kiss. 

It was a blessing that her office worked as the same place she slept before it didn’t seem so fortunate but the short journey to her bed was a wonder in its own right. The musky sheets stuck to her moist back as John dropped her down on the springy mattress. She was slippery from the soapy bath water, still slightly dirty despite it all, yet that didn’t seem to bother her at that moment - nor did it bother him. 

Something about the way John looked down at her...he may like her more filthy than clean…

“Ain’t I just the luckiest ghoul in this whole fucking wasteland,” he told her; whispered to her as his palms scratched down the tops of her thighs, thumbs pressing between muscle to relieve a tension she hadn’t known was still there.

“John,” she nipped playfully, “you keep up all this sweet talk and I might end up being wooed.”

He grinned, broad and menacing if not for how well she knew him. The sound of his short chuckle as he pressed her thighs open sent a long stab of pleasure down her gut. He hadn’t even started yet, she thought wildly, and already the flesh between her thighs burned. It did little good to know what was coming, because that first touch, slippery and merciless made her buck. Johns thumb on her clit made her sigh like only Nate's well-aimed cock had. Nora closed her eyes, breathed deep and pushed that long gone man away. 

When she looked up John was there, watching her lips open in another soft sound as he twisted his wrist, swirling that spot of pleasure with skill. Nora could find it in her to be jealous if she thought about how well he knew his way around a woman's body, but the heat still saturated her bones and the way he looked at her...she couldn't find it in her to go looking for that nasty feeling. 

Her eyes had shut again; darkness, but she parted her lips the second she felt John’s warm breath on her chin. His teeth worried her lower lip only for his tongue to sooth the raw flesh. The kiss he gave her blotted out what was left of her reasoning. His skilled kisses made her mind reel with how good it must feel to have him mouthing and tonguing her further down; down between her thighs.

Oh god, she couldn't stand it any longer.

“...now, John,” she said between kisses. Nora didn't need to be worked up anymore. Foreplay could come later - they could spend all night, the rest of their lives if he pleased, edging each other on, but right now she couldn't imagine another minute feeling like this. So needy and desperate. It was nothing like she usually felt - it was vulnerable and intoxicating.

“You sure?” John asked, sounding beaten and delirious. His lips hovered against her own, sharing each other's breath. Did she sound like that? As rent and mindless as he did? Nora wondered, rolling her hips into his furiously working hand. If he didn't do it now she'd finish empty again. No, not again. Her hips slowed as she slipped a hand between them, running her finger down his stomach where she wrapped her palm firmly around his cock; squeezing. 

“Christ…” John rasped, rolling his hips forwards into her sleek grip, “shouldn’t have to beg, being as perfect as you are but, shit- are ya’ really sure?”

“Yes, John,” she reassured him, leaning forwards to kiss him softly on his parted mouth. She must have been sure of this longer than she truly realized, because nothing seemed more right than this, right here, between John and her. He had a charm about him that the drugs couldn’t take away. Even after it took away his skin, his nose, and his ears...maybe some of his pride - it couldn’t take away what made her love him.

Those bottomless eyes of his opened as she pulled away, resting her head back against the bed, “Don’t go all shy on me now, John.”

She wagged her eyebrows dramatically, grinning. John managed a wide, almost lecherous grin before reaching underneath her to the globe of her ass, sliding her thigh up against his hip.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he promised, watching her guide his cock between her folds, looking as nervous as she felt but doing his damned best, it would seem, to appear confident. After the first few thrusts, they’d forget about any awkwardness, she knew.

As John pressed inside her - it stung. It burned more than she’d thought it would but it wasn’t the worst feeling by far Nora remembered feeling over the years. The last time something had been where John was...she was giving birth. It was odd to think about, but the memory lessened the discomfort enough that she could breathe through another thick thrust. John shook above her. He hadn’t been joking about being as fresh at this as she was, but one of them had to be stronger. She wasn’t sure it could be her given how long it had been or how raw the desire for him had become.

Nora let out a thin sound, hoping he’d mistake it for pleasure instead of the throng of discomfort it was. He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t, though. 

“Don’t let me have all the fun, love,” he groaned, halting deep inside her.

Nora let out a ragged breath and held onto his biceps, “It’s just-it’s been awhile and it feels…”

“You say too big and that’ll really go to my head,” he grimaced and in the dim light he looked threatening, but something about it made her insides contract softly. 

John whistled, swallowed audibly and gave her a naked look, “ Be careful what choice of words you're fixin’ to use.” 

That got a smile out of her. How could it not? Nora stroked the hard strength of his arms; firmly braced on either side of her before telling him, “I need you to go at it hard for a little while.” 

John’s brow line rose in question.

“Trust me alright? I’ll tell you if it hurts too much, but I promise,” she sighed and carefully shifted around his hips, “it won’t hurt for long.” It was better to rip a band-aid off than hesitate.

“We clearing out the cobwebs?” he teased, and then...before she could get a word out his hips pulled back and slapped into her with a sharp sound. Nora shrieked, scrambled for purchase along his neck and held on tight as he worked rough thrusts into her. Yes, it hurt, but the pain ebbed after seconds of John’s merciless pace. The hard pull of her insides as he slid out of her was skin-tinglingly exquisite and the hard jolt of pleasure when he bottomed out only made her drool into the sheets. 

“John-” she panted, reaching behind her with one hand to fist the sheets, keeping her from being fucked back into the headboard.

He fucked her as roughly as she’d asked and though it didn’t hurt anymore she didn’t want his pace to slow - it was brutal and the noises he made above her reminded her of a feral that had gotten too close once, but it spiked her belly with pleasure rather than fear. Or, perhaps it was both and the combination of which resulted in this heightened feeling of bliss. Nora opened her mouth, but couldn’t manage a sound as her breasts bounced roughly on her ribs, itching against the fast, hard gyration between her legs. 

“Good?” John asked; hissed it as he went down on an elbow, mouth hovering over her own. The angle changed but the pace didn’t - the depth didn’t - and some rough dip of scar tissue above his cock grazed wetly along her clit. White hot pleasure forced a very unflattering noise from her throat, but through all the sensation she could hear the distant sound of John’s breathless chuckle.

“Just-” he grunted, “tap out if it...ah, shit that's close.”

Nora breathed deeply as his brutal rhythm slowed. John’s hips started to twist; rolling in place of the hard slapping mantra. He’d been right there, so close, Nora thought dizzily. Even after cumming in the tub he nearly came again. That was alright, though. If she didn’t finish she was fine with that. There would be many more times for him to make her come...it didn’t…

“Oh, fuck,” she groaned. The way he ground into her - their bodies so close - hit every spot. The rhythm was lazy and shallow, but something about it was perfect. “Just like that. John...just like this.”

“I know.”

Nora opened her eyes to find him watching her; gazing down at her. It was like he was studying each twitch and pull across her face for what to do. Studios, he was. He always had been a perceptive son of a bitch even when she wished he wasn’t. Outside of a good firefight or debate, this is where that skill really shone, she knew. Was it any wonder he had his fair share of admirers despite what the wasteland thought of people like him. 

Nora saw it now and hoped it was exclusive to her. 

He saw something she wasn’t sure how he could see. Without any words, his hips pushed down heavily, rolling up into her with deep hard thrusts. John hummed as he pulled out of her, so gradually she thought he’d slip out. The chummy grin on his face when her eyes widened should have gotten a comment out of her, but then he rammed back inside, fast and aiming high and it hit everything. 

Everything he stroked burned and peeled away at something hard and guarded inside her. It felt amazing, but it was more than a physical sensation - it was something Nora didn’t want to voice and couldn’t as she wrung the bed sheets in her fist and held onto his neck.

“That’s it, love,” he urged; tone affectionate and rough, “let go.”

Yes, let go, Nora repeated silently, finally letting the feelings win her over. And just like that, she came like a thunder crack on the wave of a radiation storm - like a devastating beauty that was frightening in its intensity. Her mind lulled as the waves crashed and a stunning warmth bloomed in her gut. Nora sobbed through it; loud and pitiful but John covered her in his heat, whispering sentiments as she came down from the high.

Tension leaked out of her as John seethed and sat up, holding her hips in a deadly grip. His eyes were tightly closed as he slapped his hips against her own, driving forwards for his own orgasm while she jerked against the bed, watching in a stupor. John looked...well, he looked nothing like he had in the bath - he looked in pain; feverish with discomfort as he came inside her. The act, it seemed, appeared to be painful, but the hiss of breath...that was familiar and with a cut of old pleasure she sucked in a breath and watched as a myriad of emotions crossed John’s unique features. This was also beautiful. Somehow it was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen as she felt the wet warmth filling up within her.

Immediately, she wanted to feel it again.

Three times might have been a bit much for the famous John Hancock though and the crushing expression of pleasure still loosening from his face looked as final as an atom bomb. They had tomorrow...always tomorrow. 

“Fuck…” he groaned, squeezing her thigh. 

"Fuck, indeed," Nora muttered, spreading her arms out across her bed as she gazed up at him. He blinked in that slow disoriented way one did when coming out of a deep fog. Those black pitted eyes refocused, then slowly slid down towards her, hovering over her breasts before searching her face.

She felt sticky and sweaty; disheveled and yet...yet the way he looked at her made her feel gorgeous enough for a cocktail party before the war. It was the way he’d been looking at her for awhile - for so long now it seemed impossible she’d never noticed it before. Looking at her like he loved her, she thought, chewing on her lip.

“Nora...I…” he paused, swallowed and Nora thought for a second he’d say what she knew already, but he didn’t. Maybe, deep down, he was still unsure. John Hancock was many things - witty, intelligent, powerful and charismatic, but there was something very self-conscious about him, especially now as his cock softened inside of her. 

Strange for him to feel that way as their hips were pressed together.

His eyes shifted, looking for something on her face before he carefully slid away from her. The feeling made her sigh. 

John ducked his head, made to sit back on his heels; made to leave, but she was quicker than him. He eyed her critically as she grasped his wrist, squeezing him sharply.

“I-” she started with gusto and then suddenly the words lodged in her throat as well. How simple it should have been, but some part of her refused to accept the feeling as truth. She wanted to love him and she did very well love him, but something kept her from shouting it. 

Still kneeling between her thighs, John gave her a bitter smile, “You don’t gotta throw words around for my sake, sweetheart. Kinda figured I’d fucked myself over, but...hell,” he grinned - still unhappy and broken, “I’d be a fool to say no to a gal like you.”

“That hurts, John,” she whispered, but maybe he was right. Not all relationships started with declarations of love, though. Why did theirs? 

Nora swallowed, pulled out an ounce of courage and squeezed his wrist harder. “I want...this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing and - and I don’t want to be your fuck buddy either. Everything I told you before tonight, I meant it.”

A tattered muscle above his eye rose - something of John’s inquisitive self shining through whatever she’d almost broken. Nora swallowed and continued, “I want you, John, but I’m not sure I can tell you how much I love you just yet.”

“How much, huh?” he chuffed dryly, running his palm down her thigh to the ball of her knee. For a brief moment, he seemed distracted by the dripping flesh between her thighs before glancing back over at her bright cheeks, “I’ll lay all my cards on the table, Nora. You know I love you. Can’t say it ain’t obvious to everyone else either, ‘specially that little settler back in Greygarden I had let down.”

“Who was-what now?” she asked, or maybe demanded. 

He gave her a real grin this time. She must have sounded jealous because he shushed her in a self-satisfied way that would have gotten a door closed on him if she didn’t like, or love him so much. The way she felt about him seemed to go above and beyond the vernacular of this world; hers and his alike. 

“Doesn’t matter, love,” he rasped, pressing a thumb down between her thighs, underneath her slippery clit until she moaned, “point is ya' got me hooked better than the chems ever did and ain’t no going back to empty coitus flings for me anymore.”

Nora listened intently despite the stirring in her gut from his slow, gentle swirls; callus thumb sending raw pleasure up her spine. Dimly, she knew what it was he was doing right now. Distracting her. His touch was exquisite and damn her, but she couldn't shake him even if she wanted to and she definitely didn't want to.

Besides, this shade of color looked better on him than the disappointment. There he was, back to his buccaneering mannerisms and confident strokes. He whispered about the last woman he had sex with before her - about how he thought he could fuck on the side and still feel how he felt and how he’d been wrong. 

This shouldn't have thrilled her as much as it did.

John slid two fingers inside her, “...guess it’s all or nothin’ with me. If I couldn’t have you then I didn’t want anyone else. What’s-her-name didn’t like that, though.”

“John…” she whined, stretching out as his fingers curled and thumb swiped back and forth; firm and slow, “usually you don’t talk about other women when you’re in bed with someone else.” 

It was supposed to sound chastising, but it came out...not so. Nora frowned but made a delighted sound at the tickle of an impending orgasm. Usually, it took more than this to get her off...but…

“I dunno, sweetheart, not all this is my cum,” he told her; debauched and proud as he churned his fingers at an angle, letting her hear how wet she was. “And I’m thinkin’ you like my foul mouth more than you let on."

He leaned in close; breath hot on her neck, "What would you say if I picked you up and fucked you in the middle of the room, standing up. Jus’ me an you. No bed or nothin’. Just me holdin’ you up and throwin’ this dick inside and out until everyone, even the dead can hear you?”

Nora nodded, feeling scandalized. 

What an incorrigible pervert he was - to say such things only moments after admitting how he loved her, but perhaps that was part of his charm. It felt dirty, sure, but John was a scoundrel in most things he did and Nora loved that about him. Besides, she wasn’t that pure herself. The thoughts she’d had about him could make a seasoned raider blush. The more he talked to her, his voice grating and low and promising and filth laden, it only made that ball in her gut tighten until she was rolling her hips into his hand, panting like a dog. She realized she must look ridiculous like this, but with her second orgasm so close she couldn’t give a flying fuck. 

Knowing John, he’d find it hot to see her so undone by him. Let him have this, she thought wildly and let her have it as well.

When she came it was a slow climb to the top, but the fall was even longer and she found herself palming the length of his arms, curling her fingers into his neck and shoulder only for her arms to fall back to the bed as she breathed through the height of it. It was the best feeling in the world and as she came down she heard John whisper to her, “Ya love me now?”

Nora let a languorous grin stretch her face.

She did love him and the orgasm still rolling in her gut made things oh so clear...but saying so now would mean he’d won something she wanted to win herself. John looked down at her as if he could read her thoughts, and merely smirked at what he found. His thumb gave a rebellious stroke across her clit before he slid his slick palm up her belly to her hip, pulling their hips close again.

Her eyes fluttered at the contact - a sudden, heavy layer of exhaustion weighed down on her, making her eyelids droop.

Above her John laughed; dry and warm.

“Yeah, guess I’d be tired too if I took a shot of the good stuff like that, then again you got my twice with that and I’m still revved up for more. Could be my zombie tendencies shinin’ for once,” his voice sounded ragged and deep and bottomless in her ears but it also sounded manic like when he used to shoot up tubes of psycho on the road. He hadn’t shot up, though, she knew that much, but it made her both itchy and pleased to know two good blows could make him act as such. Maybe he was right about her being better than the chems to him…

“John,” she addressed, eyes closed in near-sleep, “how you could still want more after tonight...it boggles my mind.”

Another chuckle, “Easy, love. I’m a fiend.”

Nora cracked one eye open to find him grinning rakishly down at her - it was so endearing she giggled before she could help herself. John arched a ragged brow, parted his lips to say something witty about the sound no doubt but she jerked him down and kissed him with all the finesse of a witless teenager. Against her lips, she could feel him smile.

Very quietly, against his mouth, she whispered that she loved him more than she’d loved the father of her child.

John hugged her close, nodding desperately against her neck, muttering sappy sentiments that were so at odds with the dirty talk he’d fucked her with earlier. 

They wrapped themselves in one of her blankets, forgetting about the stickiness between their thighs; too tired to do much else but mold themselves along the length of the other and fall asleep. Something about his radiated body warmed her perfectly - the uneven texture comforting.

He’d certainly been right about the pointlessness of the bath, in the beginning, Nora thought as she watched him in the mid-darkness. She woke up however long after they fell asleep, something disagreeable lingering in her mind. How unfitting it was to have a nightmare after the kind of night she’d had. Should have been having dopey dreams of something...sickeningly sweet, but no. 

Looking back at the start of the evening, as the early hours of morning ticked on, Nora stretched and felt the stick of skin between her thighs peel away. Sore and sticky...filled to the point of leaking. It should have been disgusting but it had the opposite effect. The image of John standing in the middle of the room with her bouncing in his lap sent a hard spike down her belly. He’d have to made do with that promise at some point. 

Such a raw expression of strength would be her undoing, among other things. Such as the expression he wore when he finished. Nothing from here on out could take away the memory of what John looked like when he came inside her for the first time - that open pain in his irradiated features. Pleasure and pain and something so raw she’d felt at once beyond lucky to see such an expression and terrified of him seeing a similar look on her own face as she arched and came, sobbing.

Nora laid there in the darkness with just a half-dead lamp on her desk the only light. A lame light it was, halfway across the room and doing nothing to make out the tapestry of the lean ghoul laying beside her; still asleep and noticeably relaxed.

“John, you beautiful bastard,” she whispered softly, rolling her shoulders to face him, daring to lay a hand on his wide chest. The ridges of scar tissue, even now being still new, was familiar and comforting. The vestiges of a nightmare clung around her still, but she couldn’t remember what it had been about and after all, it wasn’t real. John was, though. As real as anything had any right to be.

A gentle sound, rugged but soft, escaped John’s throat as she ran a thumb over the bony nub of his collar bone, marveling at the incredibly soft feeling of his skin. Knowing how he felt in certain areas, some softer than she was, made it nearly impossible to imagine him being so strong - impossible to think how much strength lay beneath the cloaks he wore. 

Eventually, she went back to sleep, stretching her body along his side; thigh slipping wetly as she went. They’d need another bath in the morning, a proper one without any distractions...if that was even possible for a crafty man like John, but once again it felt way too good to wrap herself around his warmth and drift off, knowing that if she awoke again from something unpleasant, he’d be there. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that wraps this little take-up. Please, if you have the time leave me a kudo and or a comment. They mean a lot and keep me writing. More of these two coming soon. Thanks again for all those that read and commented. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing large chapters so this won't be more than a few chapters in length. Let me know what you think. I've been playing around with this scenario for awhile, even before 'Bendin' Over'. Comment if you have the time and thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr ----> http://brimbrimbrimbrim.tumblr.com/


End file.
